Count the Days
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: A collection of oneshots written for the Cuban Missile Crisis Event at the russiamerica community on LJ. Contains everything from biological warfare to magical talking ponies, and an unhealthy amount of fluff in a number of these. You have been warned.
1. Halley

AN: Hey guys! The russiamerica LJ community did an art-and-fic-a-thon to commemorate the Cuban Missile Crisis. Each day we were given a prompt and 24 hours to finish it. I'm just posting up what I managed to come up with from that event. Enjoy!

[October 15 Prompt: Look to the Sky]

"So what time is this show supposed to start anyway?"

"Be patient. We will not be able to see anything until the sky gets a little darker."

"Bleh, waiting. My least favorite thing. Come on, Halley's Comet! We don't have all night!"

"Ah? We have blankets, food and vodka. I would be quite happy to stay where I am for a long time."

"Shut up, Russia! Don't let the comet know that or it'll really take its time getting here!"

"Oh, apologies. Comet, I am miserable out here. Please appear soon and end my suffering."

"You don't have to be that dramatic about it," America chuckled. He grabbed a piece of cheese from their food stash (positioned conveniently next to their comet-watching blanket) and nibbled at a corner. Truth be told, he wasn't minding the waiting all that much. Russia had found a perfect spot for comet-viewing, a nice open flat space outside his capital where you could get a better look at the sky than you could in the city. It was a little chillier than America would have liked, but sometimes you just had to put up with that if you wanted to hang out with Russia.

"So would you call this a tradition for us?" America asked when the space between them went too quiet. "We've only done this once before, but-"

"If we keep watching the comet together every year it comes, then I would consider it to be. After tonight, we may call it tradition, I think."

"Do you remember the first year we watched Halley together? Well, the only time, but you know what I mean."

"1835."

"You _do_ remember!"

"Or I can subtract 75 years from 1910 very quickly in my head." America's face fell so utterly that Russia quickly amended, "Of course I remember, I am only joking. We were in Philadelphia together, da?"

It hadn't been planned, the first year. It was only chance that Russia had been there for a meeting at that exact time...but all the same, they stood side by side on top of a building in the November chill, craning their necks backward to the sky until it was almost painful to watch any more.

"Yeah, that was fun. I didn't know you all that well back then. Thought you were a bit of a weirdo." America snickered to himself. "'Course, now I _know_ you're a bit of a weirdo."

"And you are as insufferable as you were the day I met you," Russia said cheerfully, reaching for a half empty bottle of vodka next to the blanket.

America glanced up. The sky was getting darker with each passing moment. "Think it's gonna be time soon?"

"I think so. Not much longer now."

"Wish we had a telescope. I forgot to bring one."

"Wait. I grabbed one before we came out here. It is a little unconventional, but still a telescope!" Russia rolled off the blanket to inspect their impressive little mountain of snacks and hard liquor gathered for the occasion, pulled a bulky package out and started unwrapping.

"Good man, always thinking ahead," America grinned...until he got a look at the telescope. Then his eyes bugged. "What is _that_?"

"A telescope," Russia answered innocently, attempting to set it up.

"But it-it's too shiny! Is it made of gold or something?"

"Ah, maybe only gold plated-"

"It has jewels stuck to the side of it! Where the hell did you find that thing?"

"If you must know," Russia said with great dignity, "I borrowed it. From my boss. Without asking. But it is not as though anyone ever uses this one anyway. It is mostly a decoration, but I forgot to get a normal telescope sooner, and I though, 'ah, this one is functional, it will do in a pinch.' I am being resourceful."

"So, what? You raided your royal family's crown jewels to get an ultra fancy-schmancy telescope to watch a comet with me?"

Russia fidgeted. "Possibly."

"...That's actually pretty awesome. But man, those royalty guys always spend money on the wackiest stuff. You could eat for a year if you sold that!"

Russia's eyes went hard and distance. "Hm." He had been saying that a lot lately, usually when the subject of money or his boss came up. There seemed to be something sitting heavily on his mind, but he never gave a straight answer when America asked.

"Hey, knock off that brooding," he snapped, breaking off a piece of cheese and tossing it at Russia's head.

"I was not brooding," Russia grumbled, brushing cheese crumbs out of his hair. "I was thinking."

"You were frowning while you were thinking. That makes it brooding. No brooding allowed on Comet-Watching Night."

Russia's expression darkened, and for an awful second America thought they were going to get into another one of those arguments they had been having all too often lately. The disaster was averted when Russia glanced up, perhaps just to gather his thoughts. His face cleared in an instant.

"Ah, look! There it is!"

America followed Russia's gaze. There, he could see it too, a bright glowing ball trailing across the inky sky. It was hypnotizing, otherworldly, and for a long moment neither said a word. America finally lay back on the blanket when his neck began to ache, and after a moment he heard shuffling as Russia followed suit and stretched out beside him, laying just a tiny bit closer than friends should.

Finally, America gave a low whistle. "Look at that, will you. Even prettier than it was in 1835! Makes you feel like a little ant, doesn't it? Well, maybe not you. I'm a normal ant, but you're like the great big queen ant that sits around and lays eggs all day."

"I have many better things to do than lay eggs." America couldn't tear his eyes away from the comet, but he could hear the grin in Russia's voice. "I doubt any egg I laid would taste very good anyway."

"It'd probably be vodka-flavored," America agreed sagely. "Okay! Next time, we watch the comet at my place. First year was at my place, second was at yours, third is gonna be at mine again. We can take turns with this thing."

"Let me think...the comet comes every 75 or 76 years, and so...1985 or 1986?"

"Ha! That sounds so far in the future. By then I bet we'll have a plane that can fly all the way to the comet!"

"Now this I have difficulty imagining."

"Ye of little faith! We have 76 years to build one that's up to the job. Mark my words, next time this comes around, we...we can fly up to the moon and watch the comet from there! Can you imagine the view! And we can eat moon cheese, so we don't have to worry about bringing snacks either."

"Does moon cheese go well with vodka?"

"Only one way to find out! 1986, man! It's gonna be great."

"Do you think we will still want to do this 76 years from now?"

America frowned. Russia was looking broody again. No, worse than broody. He looked sad. "What are you talking about? Are you going to stop liking comets by then?"

"Nyet. But things can change. _We _can change."

"Yeah, well, unless a huge earthquake hits and we both sink into the ocean, let's plan to watch the comet again. Okay?"

Russia's smile was a tad crooked, but sincere. "Da."

"Good. Quit being gloomy. I dunno what's eating you, but everything's gonna be just fine. Hey, let's try out your fancy-schmancy telescope!"

Notes:  
Halley's Comet is visible from Earth with the naked eye, and cycles around ever 75-76 years. Unfortunately, 1986 had the worst conditions for viewing Halley's Comet in recorded history. Go figure.  
The stuff about the telescope is made up, but considering how fancy the Romanovs made their Easter eggs, I can easily imagine them having a hoity-toity telescope too. Why not.


	2. The King of the Seesaw

[October 17 Prompt: ...this is a little hard to explain, but this prompt was a picture of Uncle Sam and the Russian bear on a seesaw over the world. I kind of...went off in a different direction with this one.]

Adults probably didn't know it, but the playground was a complicated place. You couldn't just play wherever you liked. That was how Ivan understood it. The jungle gym had already been claimed by Arthur and Francis. The swings had been taken over by Gilbert and Ludwig. The slide belonged to Feliks and Toris. Ivan wasn't allowed in any of those places. He knew, because when he tried to climb on the jungle gym or play on the swing or go down the slide, the other kids would glare at him. Sometimes Gilbert threw wood chips if he didn't leave right away. Once Feliks told him he was too fat to play with them, and Ivan had to run away very fast before he started to cry in front of everybody.

But that was okay. The other kids could have the jungle gym and the swings and the slide. The seesaw belonged to Ivan. He wasn't lonely, not even a teeny tiny bit. He had the whole the seesaw all to himself. He could do whatever he liked with it! He could...he could sit on one end and make the other end go up. And then he could run around to the other side and sit on _that_ to make the opposite side go up! That was pretty fun, wasn't it? And he could play in the wood chips all around the seesaw too. On the first day he claimed the seesaw, Ivan set to work digging a moat in the wood chips all around it, to keep it safe from invaders. But it wasn't very deep, and he couldn't find any water to dump in it (pouring his juice box in hadn't been very effective) so it probably wouldn't work as well as the moats he saw on castles in his picture books. Still, it was a statement. 'The seesaw is Ivan's. Keep Out.'

The moat must have worked, because the others left Ivan alone after that. They didn't make faces at him or call him names. They didn't even look his way. It was better like that. Ivan didn't need anyone else to play with. He was six years old, almost a grown up. Grown ups didn't need friends.

The days passed, each almost identical to the last. That was before the new boy appeared. Ivan had seen him a few days before, golden haired and blue eyed, always climbing trees by himself, higher and higher as if he hoped to reach the sky. Ivan wondered if he was lonely up there. Not that Ivan himself was, but not everyone could deal with being on their own as well as Ivan could. A few times Ivan almost, _almost_ thought about going over to the boy's tree to talk to him, but that idea was always aborted at the last minute. It would end just as badly as his prior attempts at making friends.

Ivan had nearly succeeded in putting that boy out of his mind, until the day they truly met. Ivan had been sitting on one of the seesaw seats, debating whether or not he should bring his toy bear tomorrow and try to balance him in the far seat, when he heard a squeak. Suddenly his side of the seesaw began to move, raising him several inches. Ivan's head snapped up. There were fingers hanging off the far opposite seat. Someone was trying to steal Ivan's seesaw!

"Hi!" said a voice, presumably the owner of the fingers. "Are you all by yourself? Move over, I wanna get on too!"

"Let go!" Ivan cried, bouncing in his seat to shake the intruder off. "This is mine!"

The fingers disappeared, but instead of being good and leaving Ivan alone, the intruder stomped around to Ivan's side with his hands on his hips. It was the boy! Ivan stared. The boy had very blue eyes. They were even more blue than Natalia's favorite blueberry lollipops. At that moment, those blue eyes were narrowed sharply.

"You can't boss me around!" he said, shaking his head so that his pronounced cowlick swayed back and forth. "It doesn't belong to you!"

"It does too!" Ivan insisted, crossing his arms across his chest. "I got here first. That makes it mine."

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!" The boy stomped his foot, scattering wood chips, and marched back around to the other side of the seesaw. "And I'm gonna play on it no matter what you say!"

There was a scuffle as he jumped up to reach, and Ivan saw his fingers reappear.

There was only one thing to do, the surefire way to make the boy let go. Without giving it another thought, Ivan hopped off, the sudden shift in weight causing the boy's side to slam back down. The boy fell hard into the wood chips with a pained cry that quickly evolved into a wail. Ivan bit his lip guiltily and hurried over. The boy was sitting on the ground, holding his right knee with one hand and scrubbing at his eyes with the other.

"I-I _hate_ you!" he sobbed, and Ivan suddenly felt cold all over. "I just w-wanted to play wi-with you, but I don't wanna anymore!"

Ivan froze. The boy wanted to play together? No one ever wanted to play with him, except for his sisters, but Katyusha was almost always busy with homework and Natalia only ever wanted to play House. Someone had wanted to play with him, and he had ruined everything. Ivan sniffled. The boy's tears were horribly contagious.

"I di-didn't mean to hurt you," he hiccuped.

"I don't care!" the boy bawled, pulling both wounded and unwounded knee to his chest. "I hate you!"

Ivan's eyes blurred as he walked away. He didn't feel like playing on his seesaw anymore. It wasn't fair. He wanted to have friends too. The seesaw and his toy bear weren't company enough. He wanted to play with the blue-eyed boy. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Ivan wiped at his cheeks with his shirt as the tears spilled over, gulping back a whimper. If only there was a way to make this right.

Inspiration struck suddenly. If Ivan's life had been a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared over his head. It probably would have made a 'ding' sound too. He dug his hands into his pockets, digging and hunting until he found what he needed: a band-aid. Katyusha made him always keep one on hand, as he was prone to grass cuts and stubbed toes. This time it would go to a much more worthy cause.

He inched back around the seesaw, trying to muster up the nerve. The boy hadn't budged from the spot, still hiding his face behind his knees and trembling quietly. Ivan took one more deep breath for courage and walked up to the boy's side.

"I-I got you a band-aid," Ivan whispered, shuffling his feet shyly.

No response.

"It's got a sunflower on it."

The boy let one watery, red eye peek past the protective wall of his knees. "Flowers are for sissies."

Ivan wilted. This wasn't working as well as he hoped. "I'm not a sissy. It's just a band-aid. It'll make you better."

A second eye appeared, and after a truly agonizing wait, the boy stretched his leg out, offering the bloody knee to Ivan. With all the steady caution of a surgeon, Ivan peeled away the backing on the band-aid, positioned it over the wound and, careful to not push too hard, smoothed it down into place. To finish the job, Ivan pressed a quick kiss over the band-aid.

"What'd you do that for?" the boy asked with a tip of his head.

"It makes booboos heal faster," Ivan explained solemnly. There was no doubt in his mind that this was an absolute scientific fact. It certainly worked when his Katyusha did it for him.

The boy flexed his leg thoughtfully. "Huh. It _does_ feel a little better now. Um. Thanks."

"You don't have to say thanks," Ivan mumbled. "I-I'm sorry I made you fall down. I didn't know you wanted to play together."

The boy wrinkled his nose. "You're weird. Why would I want to get on the seesaw if I didn't want to play with you?"

Ivan absently dug a little hole in the wood chips, avoiding the boy's eyes. "I thought you wanted to take my seesaw all for yourself."

"That's dumb. What's the point of having a seesaw if you don't have anyone else to play with? That's boring!"

Ivan allowed himself a tiny smile. "It _is_ boring."

"So can I play on your seesaw with you?"

A blush spread across Ivan's cheeks. "Uh. I-if you want to. If you don't hate me anymore."

"Nope, I don't hate you. We can be friends, if you want."

Ivan's face lit up. "I-I do want! My name is Ivan!"

"And my name's Alfred!"

Alfred's eyes looked even bluer when he smiled, and Ivan felt something very warm spreading in his chest.

In the end, Ivan found that he didn't mind sharing his seesaw one bit.


	3. Infection

[October 21 Prompt: Quarantine]

The smell of bleach and the hum of the air filter inside the biological suit were starting to make Russia dizzy.

"We are very pleased to hear that you've taken such a personal interest in our work here, Comrade Braginski."

So they say, and they probably meant it. His people had been speculating about what he was, how he fit into the world, since he was old enough to attend his first tsar's court. They almost all assumed that he must be some sort of adviser, someone connected to the top. And that was true, but nearly everything they assumes after that wasn't.

Still, true or false, it allowed him the opportunity to see things others aren't allowed to, the deepest secrets his people had. Like weapons that weren't supposed to exist. He had promised, right there in Geneva in front of everyone, no more biological weapons. But America had promised too, and America was _lying_. Russia didn't have proof, but he was sure America was still building those weapons behind everyone's back. America always lied about everything. America said that he trusted Russia. America said that Russia was his best friend. America said that he loved Russia. America was a _liar_.

Well, Russia could lie too.

It felt odd, that he had never actually laid eyes on his tiniest weapons. He wanted to see them, from curiosity or a need to know just what his people were capable of, what _he_ was capable of. He had seen all the bombs and guns and tanks. Those were weapons he understood. But this...this was something foreign. Oh, he had used disease in war before: rotting bodies left in an enemy's water source, that sort of thing. Didn't everyone do that at some point? Everyone who was old enough to remember the brutality of old warfare, anyway.

But this was different. It was so cold and logical, so academic. You could almost forget that the contents of those little vials could kill millions.

"Right this way, Comrade Braginski. We've prepared a few slides for you to look at today, just some examples of our work."

It was hard to look into the microscope while wearing that clunky spacesuit-like protective wear, but after some shuffling Russia found a comfortable position. The first slide slipped into focus. Rod shapes filled his vision, stained purple, long and skinny.

"Anthrax," the scientist behind him said, over the hum of various machines. "And this is the best sample we have at the moment, Anthrax 836. We've been working on methods to let the spores travel farther and faster through the air, to increase our range. Our progress was slow at the start, but if you'll look over the reports we submitted last month, you'll find that we-"

_America was gasping for breath, clawing at his chest as he face slowly turned blue. His mouth worked helplessly, trying to draw in air that his lungs wouldn't take. His eyes were starting to bug when he finally looked up at Russia, accusing, pleading..._

"-if you could mention that to the Premier we would be very grateful."

Russia blinked, returning to the lab with a little jolt. He glanced over his shoulder at the unmemorable scientist, who was giving him a wary little smile.

"Of course, comrade," he said lamely, wondering what he had just agreed to. It didn't matter. His heart was thumping, too hard and fast. Suddenly he wished they had let him keep his scarf. It was left behind in a locker outside the lab. They said it was a biological hazard.

No, this was silly. He was too old to let his nerves get rattled now. This was war. War was ugly. It always had been. The weapons had changed, but it was still the same old ugly war he knew when he still had all his baby teeth. All of this, all of these weapons, were for the safety of the Union. America was the enemy now. He had to remember that.

"You have more slides for me to see?" Russia prompted, and the man got to work preparing the next one. He worked surprisingly fast in that clumsy protective suit, and the next was ready in no time.

"And here we have cholera." Little round tubes appeared under the microscope lens, and memory gave a brief stab at Russia's gut. He was all too familiar with that monster. "We had a breakthrough recently, you'll be pleased to know. This strain you are looking at has a significantly lower incubation period than naturally occurring strains. Symptoms could appear very shortly after consuming contaminated water-"

_America was curled up, both arms wrapped around his aching stomach in a futile attempt to protect it. The room smelled wretched, and Russia couldn't stop himself from pulling his scarf up to hide his nose from the assault. He could see America's chest, barely rising and falling now, his breathing diminished to almost nothing as he slipped away into shock. Russia's feet moved on their own, taking him closer as he struggled to not look away..._

"Is something wrong? Comrade?"

The scientist's brow was furrowed behind the clear plastic shield that covered his face.

"Nothing at all," Russia insisted, pasting his usual smile into place. He clenched his jaw when he felt his teeth were about to chatter.

"You look a little pale. Are you sure?"

"I'm just a bit tired. It's nothing to worry about. The next slide, please."

This one looked different to Russia's eye, like twisting noodles. "Ebola. This one is a still quite a mystery, I'm afraid." Ah, yes. One of the new terrors to emerge out of Africa recently. "We've made some progress with it, and it could be used as a weapon, but-"

_America was bleeding. It should have been impossible, but he was bleeding from everywhere. His mouth, his nose, his ears, everywhere. The whites of his eyes had turned scarlet, and his vision was dull and empty when his terrifying gaze drifted up to meet Russia. It was a blessing that his mind was gone now, that he wasn't aware of what was happening anymore, but it was a cold comfort to Russia as he steadied America's shoulders to keep him from slipping to the floor. America choked on blood (how could there be anything left to come out now?) and it splashed onto Russia's coat, leaving ugly stains behind that Russia couldn't bring himself to care about. Words stuck in his throat, but it hardly mattered. America was beyond words now..._

"-shouldn't use these things carelessly before we understand them, yes?"

"...Of course."

"Are you certain you are well, Comrade Braginski? I'm sorry for noticing, but...your hands are shaking."

Russia glanced down. The thick rubber gloves should have hidden it, but the tremors were still visible to the naked eye. He flushed, clenched his fists.

"Do you want to leave the lab?" the scientist asked, not unkindly. "You may be having a bad reaction to one of the vaccines. We could find someone to examine you-"

"I'm _fine_," Russia snapped, a bit too sharply. "You have one more slide, yes? Show me that and we can be finished with all this."

"Yes, of course..."

Russia took advantage of the man's attention falling elsewhere to take a few deep, calming breaths. One more. One more and he could go home with his curiosity satisfied.

The man fit the last slide into place, and Russia looked down into a sea of tiny dumbbell shapes. "Finally, our crown jewel, if you will. Smallpox."

A tiny shiver made its way down Russia's spine. There wasn't a country on earth who didn't know this one. It was ancient, far older than nations. How odd, to be looking into the face of so old an enemy...

"You may have read the reports already, but we have been very successful with this one. This strain is several times more contagious than natural strains, and with a significantly higher mortality rate on top of that. Our latest work has been to splice it with influenza..."

_America was dying. It was undeniable. Lesions covered every inch of his skin. It was agony to touch them. It hurt him to move, it hurt him to lie down, even the slightest contact with his skin made him moan and sob weakly. America knew this disease. Even young nations knew this one. His mind was still tragically awake, not sparing him a single moment. He knew what was happening. He knew he was dying. Those blue eyes were wide, terrified, begging, but he couldn't bear to be touched now. It was too painful to have Russia wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow or hold his hand at the end or...or kiss him goodbye..._

"Comrade Braginski?"

Russia jerked back with a ragged gasp. The borrowed medical scrubs under the suit were soaked in sweat.

"Tired, I'm just tired," he mumbled thickly, staggering away. His mind had gone mercifully blank, and he focused on the mundane to keep it that way. Focus on the slow decontamination process on the way out, the showers and chemicals before he was finally allowed back into his own clothes (and had his scarf returned at last.) He thought only about the long car ride back to Moscow, about the heavy autumn clouds over head, about anything but the imagined horror he had seen in the America in his head.

Somehow he managed to get back home again and went straight to bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. He pulled the blankets up over his head, locking himself away into his own little quarantine.

That night, sleep never came.

Historical Notes:  
The Soviet Union had the largest biological weapons program the world had ever seen (and hopefully ever will see. I really hope nothing ever tops it. The US had a biological weapons program too, but it was nowhere near as vast or developed.) A number of different viruses and bacteria were studied and developed into weapons there, including anthrax, cholera and Ebola (they even thought about working with AIDS for a while.) Smallpox was arguably the biggest focus, and the strain developed there was exceptionally potent and designed to resist Western vaccines. Smallpox became more valuable as a weapon after it's eradication from the natural world in 1977, as it would no longer be practical to keep vaccines stockpiled and people would gradually lose their natural immunity to it over time, making them much more susceptible to an attack.


	4. Comfort Food

[October 23 Prompt: "If what you have done yesterday still looks big to you, you haven't done much today." -Mikhail Gorbachev]**  
**

It was difficult to learn how to live alone again, Russia realized. The new quiet that filled his home after his Union fell was one of the hardest things to get used to. He tried to fill the silence by making as much noise as he could. He stomped whenever he walked. He slammed doors. He intentionally dropped things. He dug out his radio and turned it up as loud as it could go, even when there was nothing worth listening to.

It wasn't just the ringing silence of an empty house that Russia had to learn to contend with, now that everyone had left. There were practical matters, things he hadn't needed to bother with before. For most of the century his business had been running his empire. There were others to takes care of his cooking and cleaning, but the others were gone now. The initial depression Russia fell face first into following December 31 was so deep that for a while he didn't even care about the layer of dust that had settled over almost every piece of furniture he owned, or the fact that there was little in his kitchen besides stale bread, vodka, tea and some raw potatoes. Eventually he climbed far enough out of that hole to, in the very least, concern himself with the state of his house again. And so he had rolled up his sleeves and tried to remember things he had never been taught in the first place.

Washing his clothes had been the biggest disaster thus far. That had been Lithuania's job, even back when he was the Russian Empire rather than the Soviet Union. Lithuania was the one who knew how to iron Russia's pants, how to get the vodka smell out of his shirts after longs nights of drinking, how to clean his scarf so that it stayed soft and comfortable. He never bothered to teach Russia any of those things. There hadn't been a need before. He could vaguely remember Ukraine teaching him how to wash his things by hand when they were younger, but he hadn't a clue what to do with a washing machine. Lithuania had been extremely pleased when Russia finally caved in to his request and bought the thing years ago, but the purchase was to make Lithuania's work easier. Why should Russia have learned how to use it?

He used far too much soap on this first try and ended up with a sudsy, soppy mess. His second try somehow shrunk half the load of laundry. His formerly baggy sweater had turned small enough to fit Latvia. He snarled at his error, threw the ruined clothes aside and tossed more dirty clothes in, trying again. A red shirt and vest were the only things to come out intact. The rest, which had been white when he started, had turned pink. Even his favorite scarf was now the color of bubblegum. He stared down at the dripping piles of failure around him and laughed until he cried. Then he just cried. It had been a long time indeed since he had felt so pathetic.

He had been strong once, hadn't he? He had built a beautiful, powerful country from the ground up, for his people. Of course he had dirtied his hands in the process, but surely the glorious end he had in sight would more than justify all his means. His empire ought to have been grand, ought to have lasted centuries, but...no. It had all just been a castle of sand, and the tide had finally come in.

He ought to have been ashamed for indulging in such self pity, but he couldn't even muster up the energy for that now. He just lurked around his house like a reclusive ghost. Or perhaps he was more of a poltergeist, since he had adopted the habit of knocking things off shelves for the sake of hearing the smash. He avoiding venturing outside unless his boss demanded he attend a meeting, and he went straight back home afterward. Why bother going outside? What was the point?

He thought about calling America from time to time. He couldn't bring himself to throw away the red phone. It still sat on his desk, tempting him. But what good would that do? America didn't care about him, not any more. Russia was certain of that. In fact, he was surprised that America hadn't called yet to brag and remind Russia of all he had lost. Why did he hesitate now? Wasn't he glad that Russia had lost? Maybe he simply cared so little about Russia now that he wouldn't even bother with a phone call. America easily forgot the countries he didn't care about. Maybe...maybe he was just forgetting all about Russia now too. The thought was enough to make Russia want to go back to bed and stay there for the rest of the day. No one cared any more. Not his sisters, not his subordinates, not his old friends...

A little longer, he told himself. Just a little more time was all he needed, and he'd pull himself back out of this dark mood. He'd grin and bear it, and go back to being a part of the world and pretend that it didn't sting when he was reminded that everything he did ended in failure. He just needed a few more days to shake off the grief.

It had been nearly a week since he promised himself only a few more days, when the doorbell rang. Russia stared at the door as though he had never heard the sound before. To be fair, it had been ages since anyone had rang the bell, or even knocked. Visitors had been rare as of late. A list of potential doorbell ringers flashed through his head, and he decided to answer it. At worst if could be someone who meant him harm, but what could they do? Being stabbed or shot or beaten would hurt, but it certainly wouldn't kill him. If he could survive the transition from the Soviet Union to the Russian Federation then surely nothing anyone had on his front doorstep could put a dent on him. The thought was strangely uplifting.

There were half a dozen locks and chains to undo before the door could be opened, and it swung open with a creak, letting some piled up snow spill inside. Russia stared blankly at the sight before him. There was no one there. There was, however, a small mountain of colorful cartons, all labeled 'Ben and Jerry's,' with a little bag of plastic spoons on the side. Now this was most unexpected. Russia glanced up and over, just in time to see someone in a very familiar bomber jacket disappear around a corner. Ah, so it was America. Of course. No doubt he felt that Russia's collapse had made him the default winner of their silly little war, and now he had come to rub his victory in Russia's face. Although he had certainly picked a strange way to go about it, but America's brain could be truly incomprehensible at times. Perhaps he sought to flaunt the superiority of capitalism through ice cream? It didn't matter. America had to be up to no good. Why else would he run away?

Without another thought, Russia took off after him, almost tripping over a carton of 'Chunky Monkey' in the process, half to catch America and demand an answer and half for of the desperate need to talk to someone just to convince himself that he was still capable of the act.

The snow on the streets was a stroke of luck; Russia could move through it much faster than America, and soon he caught sight of the back of a blond head. America had made the mistake of thinking he had gotten too far away to be followed and slowed his step. Russia took advantage of that to quickly catch up and seize the back of his jacket, jerking back sharply.

"Son of a bitch!" America yelped a he pulled away from Russia's grip and whirled to face him, glasses crooked and hair mussed. Russia would be the first to admit that he was no master of the English language, but he was fairly certain that 'son of a bitch' was four separate words. Yet the four always turned into one when it came out of America's mouth. Sonuvabitch. How curious.

"Good afternoon," Russia said icily as America tried to regain his bearings, clasping his hands behind his back. "I can not help but notice that you left quite a mess on my door step. Would you care to explain yourself?"

"Oh, um, uh, well. Er," said America, ever the eloquent one. "I, uh, guess you found my present."

Russia frowned. Where were the scathing remarks? The quips? The insults? The threats? Oh, he and America had been civil on occasion during the Cold War (and sometimes even something roughly resembling friendly, just like the old days) but surely America would take advantage of Russia's sorry state to land a few blows now, rub some salt into the wounds. Why did he hesitate now? Was this an act? But America had never been a very good actor...

"So, did you eat any yet?" America asked awkwardly, scuffing at a pile of snow with his shoe.

"Where would I have found the time for that? I have been chasing you, or did you forget?"

"Shut it, asshole. You could at least say thank you or something."

"For what? What have you done to deserve thanks? Enlighten me, I am curious."

"I bought you a shitload of ice cream, for one thing. And it wasn't exactly easy to transport all that from my place to yours."

"Ah, but that doesn't explain your reasons. Surely you did not waste all the time and trouble because you were bored, da? Although you have always been so proficient at wasting-"

"Can you shut your yap for ten seconds and let me talk?"

Russia shut his yap and folded his arms, waiting.

"Okay," America began, now that he had a quiet audience. "I dunno what you're being so weird about. This ain't rocket surgery. I bought you ice cream to cheer you up. That's it. And this would have worked a lot better if you hadn't ruined my doorbell ditching by chasing after me. Don't you know how this stuff is supposed to work?"

"And why should I believe this is true?"

"Whaddya mean? I just heard on the grapevine that you were kind of in a funk right now. And ice cream always fixes me when _I'm_ in a funk, so hey, I figured it would work for you."

There was a very heavy question weighing on Russia's mind, but instead he asked, "What is a 'funk'?"

"You know...a funk is when...you're all down and sad and stuff."

"I see. And who told you I was...'in a funk'?"

"N-nobody, word was just kind of passing around-"

"It was Lithuania, da?"

"...Okay, knock off the creepy mind reader jig. It's too weird."

"No mind reading, just basic logic. Which you lack, of course."

"Listen here, bud-"

"You are friends with Lithuania. Friends tend to pass on information. Lithuania was...aware that I was upset after he left. He is in close contact with Belarus, even if it is against her will, and she most likely mentioned to him that I was feeling even more poorly by the time she left. And so it is no surprise that this was passed on to you."

"...Fine, you're right. Happy?"

"Nyet. I am 'in a funk,' da?" The corner of his mouth twitched up in spite of himself.

"All the more reason we go back to your house and eat that ice cream. You're beyond hope if that doesn't make you feel better."

_But why do you care? Why does it matter to you if I am sad?_ Russia couldn't quite bring himself to ask that. A part of him was sure America would answer that he didn't care, it didn't matter to him, he had another reason for all this nonsense...

"Alright, pick up the pace. My balls are turning into ice cubes out here," America announced to the world at large, marching back to Russia's house. Russia followed, still bewildered by the turn of events.

"I know that common sense is a foreign concept to you, but are you certain you wish to eat something as cold as ice cream when, as you say, your testicles are feeling slightly chilly?"

"Yes I am certain, you colossal weirdo. Ben and Jerry's is the best thing ever!"

Star Wars, the Beatles and beer helmets had all been referred to as 'the best thing ever' by America. Russia wasn't certain about the legitimacy of that term.

They made it back to the house without further incident, and America even helped bring in the ice cream mountain he had built earlier on Russia's front doorstep. He flopped down on an overstuffed sofa without waiting for an invitation and opened a carton for himself (Half Baked) and had already eaten a third by the time Russia joined him on the sofa with his own little tub of ice cream (Chubby Hubby.)

"So..." America drawled after the silence had become truly uncomfortable. "I like your new flag. Uh, I mean your old flag. New old flag. Y'know the one with the white and blue and red stripes? That."

"I would have thought it was not flashy enough for you," Russia mumbled dully around the spoon in his mouth.

"Nah, red, white and blue works for me. Or white, blue and red in your case. Whatever. Good honest colors."

"I was under the impression that you hated red? You certainly ranted and raved enough about it."

"The blue and white cancel out the bad parts. So you're fine."

Russia sighed and put down his spoon. "Why are you here?"

"I already told you, to cheer you up!"

"Da, and _why_ do you want to cheer me up?"

"Jeez, are you gonna make me say it? Okay. It bums me out when I think about you being sad and all on your lonesome. Got it?"

Russia just looked at him until he huffed in embarrassed annoyance and continued.

"I don't really hate you, y'know. You can be an Olympic-grade pain in the ass, but that doesn't mean I want you to be depressed and lonely. Besides, you aren't any fun to fight with when you're sad. So the sooner you pick yourself back up again, the better."

None of this made any sense, not America's supposed motives, not the way the tips of his ears were red with something other than cold, nothing.

"You sound so sure that I will make a full recovery from all this," Russia mumbled, half to himself.

"Yup. 'Cause you're you. And you always bounce back, no matter what drags you down, and you come back twice as strong every time."

"Is that really what you think?"

"Yup. And the old USSR wasn't all that awesome. You can do way better than that."

"You understand nothing," Russia snarled, slamming down the ice cream carton on the table. "I put _everything_ into the Soviet Union. _Everything_. That was the best I had, the best I could do, and it-" His voice broke, and he had to stop there. America said nothing for a long time, and Russia finally picked the half eaten ice cream back up again, shoveling it mechanically into his mouth and trying to blink away the hot blur in his eyes.

Finally, America spoke again. "So, what? Are you just giving up on everything now?"

"I don't know," Russia whispered. "But I will never be as great as I was."

"What kind of crappy attitude is that? I'm telling you, you can do better than the Soviet Union. It's not like it was perfect. Or anything close to perfect. So quit getting all hung up on it. Yeah, some stuff you did there was pretty cool, but you're never gonna get anywhere if you only ever think about how great you used to be. If you're upset about how good things were, then work twice as hard and make the future twice as good. And don't tell me you can't. You're better than that. I _know_ you are."

Russia blinked, slowly absorbing all that. It shouldn't have made a difference. It was all just common sense that Russia should have already known. And yet...he hadn't been able to say it to himself yet. Those were the words Russia needed to hear, the ones he hadn't been able to give to himself. And here was America, handing him those words as if it was nothing at all.

"That was surprisingly good advice, coming from you," he said honestly.

"Well," America scratched his nose awkwardly and took another bite of ice cream, unused to this kind of praise. "You know me. I don't like worrying about the past too much. Whatever happened is done and over with. We're living right _now_. That's what matters."

"Hm." The ice cream tasted a little sweeter on its way down. "I will think about what you have said."

"Good! Enjoy your ice cream, ex-commie. If you aren't back to normal at the next meeting, I'm gonna send you a heap of apple pies. Apple pie is a WMD against the blues, just so you know."

"I see. It is wise that you have a back up plan."

"Yup!" America had finished his ice cream and stood with an exaggerated stretch. "I better head back. I was just gonna leave the ice cream in front of your door and run, so I've probably already missed my flight home. Don't want the boss to worry too much."

_You can stay_, Russia almost said. _I do not mind. There are plenty of spare beds. It would not bother me if it was just for one night._

But no, he couldn't say that. Not quite yet. But he could manage a small smile, and shake America's hand without squeezing too hard, and not pull away with America tuned the handshake into a quick hug.

"Cheer up, bud," America said on the way out, giving him a thumbs up. "You're gonna be fine."

The house didn't feel so lonely for the rest of the day, and Russia went to bed that night with a stomach ache (too much ice cream.) The next day, he called his boss. There was work to be done.


	5. And They Lived Happily Ever After

[October 24 Prompt: Ivan the Fool]

_Once upon a time, in a kingdom full of magic where birds and beasts sometimes spoke, there lived three brothers. One year, the brothers were faced with a most mysterious problem: something was trampling their fields at night and ruining their harvest. The two older brothers decided to stand guard at night, but when the storms blew over the field they hid in fright._

_That left the youngest brother, Ivan, who was considered the fool of the family-_

"I knew it!"

Russia glanced up from his book. "Excuse me?"

"I knew he was going to be named Ivan," America said with just a hint of smugness. For someone who was propped up in bed with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth, he looked very pleased with himself. "Your fairy tales are _always_ about some guy named Ivan. Every single time! Do you have any fairy tales where the main guy _isn't_ named Ivan?"

"Of course I do, I have plenty-"

"But every single one you read today has been about an Ivan. What gives, man?"

"It is a very common name-"

"It's also _your_ human name. Is there some conspiracy going on here?"

"No more talking until we are done taking your temperature."

"It's been in there forever! It's gotta be done by now."

"And you have been talking half the time, which damages the results. Why do you think I have been telling you stories? It was supposed to keep you calm and quiet, but now I see I would have more luck convincing the sun to not set in the evening."

"Such a drama queen. C'mon, just check it already."

Russia heaved a long suffering sigh, put down the book of fairy tales and plucked the thermometer out of America's mouth. "Hm, 38.8."

"Jesus Christ! I've been feeling chilled all day, but I didn't know I was that cold! Get me some more blankets."

"That is in Celsius. You have a fever."

"...I knew that. Just pulling your leg."

"Da, da. More blankets would not be good for you at this point."

"Party pooper." Any further comments were broken off into a coughing fit. Russia was at his side in an instant, thumping him on the back.

"Better?" he asked, when the fit had passed.

"Not even close," America moaned, flopping back on the heap of pillows. "I feel like shit."

Russia pet his hair soothingly before dropping his hand down to rest against America's overheated forehead. "I will get you some vodka, and then we can continue your story, da?"

"I hate to break this to you, but I don't think vodka is gonna do any good here."

"You underestimate the versatility of vodka. You can mix it with hot water and inhale the steam to make breathing easier. You can gargle it to kill the germs. You can mix it into a drink to sooth your throat. It can be used as a vapor rub, a disinfectant, and a-"

"Alright, alright!" America cut him off, waving his hand weakly. "You're crazy about the stuff, I got it."

Russia sighed again, tempted to stick around and defend vodka's honor a bit longer. It would have been a lost cause on America at the best of times, and so he admit defeat for the time being and retreated to the kitchen in search of more ingredients for a homemade cold remedy. Lacking the traditional elements (except for vodka) he improvised until he had produced something that would probably make the paint peel off his walls if he let it sit too long.

"Oh my god, what is _that_?" America groaned when Russia reappeared with the deadly cold remedy. "I can smell it all the way across the room! No way am I drinking that."

Russia looked down at the cup. The contents gave a suspicious burble. "Ah. Maybe it would be better if you just breathed in the vapors?"

America took the mug doubtfully and gave it a cautious sniff. "Urg. It smells like a mix between booze and nuclear waste."

"But I am certain it will kill your cold!" Russia put in with a hopeful smile.

"It'll probably kill me too,"America grumbled, wincing as he took another whiff of the mystery liquid. "Whatever, you better get back to your story before I expire. You were just telling me about some dummy named Ivan."

Russia huffed and cracked open the book again.

_Ivan would have been happier sitting in a corner and singing songs as loud as he could, but he dutifully stood watch when it was his turn to guard the field. Ivan waited and waited under the moonlit sky, until at last he saw the one who had been damaging their crops: a snow-white horse. Ivan leapt on the back of the horse, and no matter how the horse bucked and struggled, Ivan held on-_

"This is weird. I mean, you're good with horses. This Ivan is good with horses. Coincidence?"

"Da. Hush. Keep smelling the cold remedy. Or sip it, if you feel brave enough."

"Oh ho, is that a challenge? Well watch this! ...Augh! Ack!"

"Ah, spit it out! Here, in the trash can-"

"Blech! It's ten time worse than its smell! What the hell did you put in it?"

"...Let us continue the story, da?"

_At last Ivan was able to subdue the horse. But the horse pleaded with Ivan to be set free. In exchange for its freedom, the horse promised Ivan two steeds with golden hair, and a pony with two humps on its back and long ears, who could be Ivan's best friend. Ivan agreed. He liked the idea of having a pony for a friend, as there were few who wanted to be friends with a fool-_

"Aw."

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just cute."

"...America, you do not think I am the character in the story, do you?"

"Eh."

"...I have plenty of friends. I do not need a pony to be my friend."

"Sure you don't."

_Ivan and his brothers took the golden horses into town to sell, but along the way Ivan saw a strange light. He rode his pony closer, only to find the glowing feather of a firebird. The pony warned him to leave the feather along, but Ivan took it anyway, tucking it under his hat-_

"What a dumbass. He should have listened to his magical talking pony."

"America, please stop interrupting."

_The brothers arrived at the fair, and everyone gathered around to see their magnificent golden steeds. Even the tsar had heard about them, and when he saw the beautiful horses, he immediately bought them. But as the tsar's grooms tried to lead the horses away, they broke free and ran back to Ivan's side. Seeing that the horses were loyal to Ivan, the tsar asked him to come work at the royal stable. Ivan agreed, as long as he was allowed to sleep as much as he pleased-_

"And there's another thing! This Ivan and _my_ Ivan both like to sleep! ...Sorry, carry on."

_Ivan did a good job at the stable, although his singing drove everyone mad-_

"Was he singing the Trololo song?"

"America, do you want me to read you the story or not?"

"I do. Sorry. I'll be quiet."

_The royal chamberlain, however, didn't like Ivan one bit. He watched Ivan closely to see if he would make any mistakes. One day, while spying on Ivan, he caught sight of the firebird's feather. The chamberlain ran back to tsar to tell him about the feather. The tsar called Ivan before him, and demanded that Ivan bring him the firebird himself. If he didn't, Ivan would lose his head! Ivan left the palace, terrified and in tears, and told the pony all his troubles-_

"What a jerkass. Poor Ivan. At least he's got a pony for a buddy. Y'know, if someone's ever bullying you like that, you can come talk to me too. I'm a way better friend than a talking pony. ...Quit laughing, I totally am!"

_The pony promised to help Ivan with his task. Under the pony's instruction, they rode out to a brook near a beautiful silver mountain, where the firebird's favorite watering hole was located. Ivan mixed together millet and wine, and put it in a trough for the firebird to drink. When one bird began to drink the mixture and became woozy, Ivan threw it into a sack and rode back to the tsar._

"Yeah! Score one for the little guy!"

_Ivan presented the bird to the tsar, who was very pleased. This only made the royal chamberlain even more jealous. A few weeks later, the chamberlain heard the servants gossiping about a tsar-maiden in a faraway kingdom who was stunningly beautiful. The chamberlain went to the tsar with this story, and told him that Ivan had been bragging that he could get that beautiful maiden for himself. Again the tsar summoned Ivan, demanding that he find the maiden for him, or it would be off with his head! Ivan left the palace in a sorry state again, but once more the pony promised to help him-_

"Damn, that's a good pony. Better than a dog, huh? I should get a talking pony."

"Do you intend to be sucked into a few impossible fairy tale quests any time soon?"

"Probably not."

"Then you do not need a talking pony."

"Yeah, I got you. Who needs a pony to help me out when I've got a Russia."

"..."

_Ivan followed the pony's directions to the far away kingdom, and set up a tent with dinner and sweets to lure the maiden near. Sure enough, the girl came wandering into the tent. Ivan captured her, and took her back to the tsar. But when the tsar begged the maiden to marry him, she refused. At last she agreed to marry him only if he brought her back a ring she had lost in the ocean. And so-_

"Lemme guess. The tsar makes Ivan go get it, and threatens to cut off his head if he doesn't. And the pony helps him again. Right?"

"Da, you are catching on."

_Ivan and the pony went out to the seaside to search for the ring. Along the way, they met a sea monster, who helped them retrieve the ring. But when they returned to the tsar, the maiden still refused to marry him, because he was too old for her._

"Ha, sucks to be him."

_According to the maiden, the tsar could regain his youth by dipping himself into three cauldrons, full of boiling water, boiling milk, and ice water._

"America, that might be a good cure for your cold too. Shall we try it? For science?"

"Ha. Cute. Shut up and finish the story."

_The tsar ordered Ivan to try the method first, to make sure that the magic worked. Ivan surely would have been boiled to death, but the pony dipped his muzzle into each cauldron first. Ivan went in to each cauldron, and when he finally emerged from the last, he had been transformed into a very attractive man._

"Ah ha, so this _is_ a story about you! So the reason you're so cute and handsome is because of some crazy pony magic? ...Oh my god, are you _blushing_?"

"STOP INTERRUPTING."

_Believing the magic would work on him too, the tsar tore off his clothes and jumped into the cauldron, but was instantly boiled alive. Ivan and the maiden were married instead, and became the rulers of the land. And they lived-_

"Happily every after?"

"Da," Russia confirmed with a little smile, closing the book.

"Good! That's my kind of ending," America sighed happily, reclining against the pillows.

"I am glad to have entertained you. Do you feel any better?"

"Maybe a little. It's totally not because of your cold remedy from hell, though."

Russia glanced over at the cup, which America had left on the bedside table. It appeared to be slowly melting the plastic. "Ah," he said guiltily. "It might be a bit too potent for consumption. I will make you tea instead."

"Bleh, I hate tea."

"Have you ever tried _my_ tea? It is much better than England's, I promise."

"Welp, guess I could give it the old college try."

"I appreciate your spirit! And if you are good and drink all your tea, I will tell you another story."

"About some schmuck named Ivan?"

"...Possibly."

"Heh. Hey, question time for Ivan. If it was between me or the beautiful maiden in the story, which one would you marry?"

Russia made a rather hasty exit of the room, face as red as a beet. The fever was no doubt burning up America's brain.


	6. Dress Up

[October 29 Prompt: Costumes]

America said nothing for a very long time after opening his door. Eventually he lifted his hockey mask to get a better look at the anomaly standing before him. Then, at long last, he said, "Sweet zombie Jesus on a pogo."

"Happy Halloween," said Russia. "If you give me a piece of candy, I will be somewhat less likely to throw rolls of toilet paper at your house. ...That is how the American children say it, da?"

"It's just 'trick or treat,' man."

"Ah, I see. Trick or treat!"

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"A Halloween costume." At least he was relatively sure of that. Now that he thought of it, the heart shaped buttons and pink cravat might have been a bit too much.

"What's that fuzzy stuff on your head?"

"Bear ears."

"And your hands...?"

"Bear paws, of course."

"...Do you have a bear tail pinned to your ass too?"

Russia turned around to show him. America promptly burst out laughing.

"Oh my god!" he howled, banging his fist on the door frame. "You're a riot!"

"What is wrong with being a bear?" Russia bristled. "It is better than a homeless man in a hockey mask, da?"

"Dude, I'm Jason!"

"Jason who?"

"...If you weren't so cute, I would totally break up with you. Anyway, it's not just the bear thing. It's those faggy European-looking clothes you're wearing. And why is everything pink?"

"I _like_ pink. And Poland said I looked fine."

"Wait wait wait. Where did Poland come in to the equation here?"

"He helped me make my costume. This part of our...ah, mending relations, da? We are trying to be nice now."

"There's your problem. Never ask Poland for Halloween costume advice. You'll end up looking like the bastard child of a Disney princess. Not that there's anything wrong with Disney princesses," he added, just to defend the name of good old Walt. "But this is Halloween! You're supposed to dress as something scary. Or sexy. Preferably both."

Russia looked down at his pink waistcoat with its pink heart buttons. Yes, he had to admit that this was not likely to be scary or sexy by anyone's standards.

"Please tell me you didn't walk all the way from your hotel dressed like that," America laughed, wiping away tears of mirth.

Russia shuffled his feet. America dissolved into giggles again.

"I bet you're on YouTube already. This is too perfect. Wait, hang on." An iphone appeared from America's pocket, and after a few seconds of frantic tapping, he crowed triumphantly. "God bless my enterprising citizens. Take a look at this."

Russia frowned at the little screen. It was a video of him from behind. If the pink coat didn't give him away, the bear ears and tail certainly did. There were a pair of voices giggling as the camera followed the unfortunately unaware nation.

"Check out this guy!"

"I bet someone dared him to dress like that."

"Omigod, I think he's pinker than my little sister's bedroom."

"What's the bit of fluff on his butt?"

Russia groaned softly. He was truly losing his touch. He had been such a skilled spy before...now a couple of prepubescent girls could follow him around and he hadn't even noticed. This was disheartening.

The video continued to follow Russia, all the way up to America's doorstep.

"Aw, darn!" one voice whined when America opened the door. "He's already got a boyfriend."

Russia whipped around, scanning the street for his stalkers. There was no one in sight.

"How are they so fast?" he whispered in faint horror.

"I dunno," America shrugged. "Teenagers, man. They even surprise me sometimes."

Russia sighed heavily. This wasn't turning out how he hoped at all. "I left some of my clothes at your house from last weekend, da? Should...I just change now?"

"No way! You're hilarious, big guy. We can't waste a costume like this! It's not like we've got time to find you a new costume before the Halloween party anyway. Actually, we should probably leave soon. Time is money!"

"But I look silly..."

"And _I_ have a chainsaw as part of my costume," America said with a disturbingly bright grin. "If anyone gives you any shit, I'll take care of 'em."

"Ah, but you already 'gave me shit' about my outfit, da?"

"I'm your boyfriend. I'm allowed to tease. Oh, just remembered! I need your help to scare England again this year."

"Did you have anything in mind?"

"Naw, I don't want to hamper your creative genius. But if he faints or pees his pants, I'll consider it a job well done."

"I will require compensation for my services, as usual. I will remind you that I still accept payment in kisses."

"How many and where?"

"That will depend on how hard I have to work. It might be more difficult this year. My costume may be a handicap."

"I believe in you!" America grinned. "See, this might actually work in your favor. You look so harmlessly cute, it'll lull England into a false sense of security. It's perfect!"

The 'c' word made Russia fidget. "...Am I cute?"

"Very cute. The cutest. You've just got a wacky-ass costume. I'm helping you dress up next year."

"As what?"

"Um...a cowboy! Oh yeah, that's a good one. I could get you some tight leather chaps, and-"

"I do not like tight leather," Russia said flatly.

"Come on! It would look amazing."

"...I am too big boned for tight leather."

"No way! Look, if you do this for me, I'll dress up as whatever you like for next Halloween. And I'll do anything you want. I do mean anything. Wear those chaps and I'll put on your old Red Army uniform and parade around at the annual Halloween party with the Communist Manifesto."

"I thought you would spontaneously combust if you touched anything by Marx? I believe you said those exact words to me a few decades ago."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. That's how much I want to see you in chaps."

"...I will think on it."

"Good enough for now. Let's get a move on. I want you to have plenty of time to scare England at the party."

"Da, da..." Russia sighed, following America out the door.

America beamed and reached around to flick Russia's bear tail. "Happy Halloween, big guy."


End file.
